


if you talk enough sense you'll lose your mind

by owilde



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternative Dialogue, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Communication, F/M, Fluff, Scene Rewrite, Season 3 Finale, Season/Series 03, What-If, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, but it's there if you squint, i mean that's kind of a stretch, talking about feelings, they!! need!! it!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 07:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14014914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owilde/pseuds/owilde
Summary: “You think I need your pity? I don’t.”“It’s not why I’m here.”Bruce turned around, his hands trembling – out of grief or frustration, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps both. “You want to know what happened?” He asked, shaking his head. Tears prickled in his eyes. “Alfred is...” He trailed off, choking on his own words. “He’s dying, and it’s my fault.”





	if you talk enough sense you'll lose your mind

**Author's Note:**

> i had to rewatch some painful ass scenes to get the dialogue for this fucking fic and let me tell you it was not fun
> 
> rewrite of the hospital scene in S3 finale because it makes me cry (so does this but in a different way)
> 
> title lifted from Amber Run's "I Found"

The chair felt hard and cold underneath him despite the padding as Bruce sat down with his head in his hands. Everything felt hard and cold, in fact, from the sterile hospital air around him to his own mind, frozen somewhere between _Alfred_ and _dead_ and _my fault_.

Because it was. His fault. How could it not be? Alfred had tried his damn best; he’d always had an unwavering trust in Bruce, despite everything, despite all the times he’d proved Alfred’s worries founded and reasonable. He’d always been there by his side, guiding him, helping him.

And how had Bruce repaid his loyalty? By stabbing him?

He could feel the tears and at this point, there was no sense in fighting them off; they ran in quiet streaks down his cheeks as he tried to heave off all the hurt inside him. Alfred was dying, because of him, and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it.

It was the helplessness that hurt perhaps the most.

What was he going to do if – and it was if, not when – if Alfred died? Would he live alone in the manor, haunted by the empty hallways and quiet rooms – because Bruce didn’t think himself capable of that. It would drive him mad, madder than he already must’ve been, to wander around the vast space, alone because everything had been taken from him, _by_ him.

Bruce thought himself quite the fool.

Pictures ran unwarranted across his mind. A funeral, like the one they'd had for his parents years ago, now a distant memory yet still so present. How many would attend this one, he wondered. Alfred’s old army friends, probably, but Bruce didn’t know any of them by name – and besides, what would he tell them? That it was him who’d pulled the metaphorical trigger that had…

But Alfred wasn’t dead yet. He was a fighter down to the bone; he could pull himself through this, too, and Bruce wouldn’t have to live in a reality where he didn’t exist anymore.

He wished his conviction would’ve been more believable to himself.

Footsteps approached down the hallway, pulling Bruce from his thoughts. Hesitant, unsure. A nurse here to tell him the bad news?

“Bruce?” Selina’s voice asked. “I heard about Alfred.”

Bruce lifted his head from his hands, not looking in her direction. His vision was blurry, the hallway a distorted image of bland colours and odd shapes. His mind unfroze itself and now switched into overdrive – a million thoughts and images flitted through, unbidden.

Selina feeding the birds. Selina sitting by the ledge of a building, knowing she’s not in any danger of falling. Selina watching him cook, Selina sleeping, curled up like a cat, Selina jumping across rooftops. Selina smiling at Bruce, a fluttering in his chest, the beginning of something.

The pictures turned into accusations, pointed fingers, hurled insults. Selena angry because of his actions – who wasn’t, these days, least of all Bruce himself. It hurt, like it had all the times Bruce had thought about it since.

Selina took another step towards him. “Is he going to be okay?”

A feeling of ache struck through Bruce’s chest. He stood up and turned away, not ready to face Selina; not wanting to.

“Go home, Selina.” Bruce’s voice sounded hollow even to himself. He _felt_ hollow.

“What happened?”

Bruce closed his eyes in pain. “No. No, you don’t get to do this.”

Selina scoffed. “Do what?”

“Walk back into my life.” _Like nothing happened_ , he thought _. Like I’m still not hurting because of you, because of us, because of everything that has happened and will happen_. “You think I need your pity? I don’t.”

“It’s not why I’m here.”

Bruce turned around, his hands trembling – out of grief or frustration, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps both. “You want to know what happened?” He asked, shaking his head. Tears prickled in his eyes. “Alfred is...” He trailed off, choking on his own words. “He’s dying, and it’s my fault.”

Selina rolled her eyes. “Right, because everything is always _your_ fault—”

“This is,” Bruce cut in. “This is different.” He fell silent. Swallowed, blinked, tried to breathe. “I was taken. They did something to me, to make me forget who I was. I lost sight of what was important.”

Selina eyed him, her arms crossed. “And what’s that?”

“Family.” Bruce bit his lip. “Alfred. And you.”

Silence fell around them. Voices continued to speak in the distance, devices beeped, people cried. Selina looked at him with an odd expression, half shock and half apprehension.

“Me,” she echoed. “Right, yeah. So, because we go on one date, I’m suddenly your family?”

“No,” Bruce said. His chest felt heavy and his mind fuzzy – he was barely standing. “Don’t do this, not right now. I’m tired of our games. You know that I care, despite everything that has happened. And I know that you do, as well. Please, don’t…”

A wave of dizziness washed over him like a tidal wave, blinding his vision for a second. Bruce stumbled to sit down, slumping down on the chair as his legs gave in. Selina was by his side in a second, her hand hovering over him in concern as she squatted down next to him.

“Bruce?” She asked. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. His head was swimming. “Sorry,” he breathed out.

“For what?” Selina rested her hand on his knee hesitantly. “Look, I’m sorry if I made you upset or something, I just thought…” She paused. “I don’t know what I thought.”

Bruce opened his eyes carefully and stared at the wall in front of him until it stopped swaying. “It’s not you,” he reassured. Somehow, it felt pertinent she knew that. “It has been a long day.”

Selina avoided his eyes. “You still didn’t tell me what happened.”

Bruce leaned his head against the wall. Selina’s hold on him felt comforting, an anchor grounding him into reality. His eyes went glassy. “Alfred was trying to stop me from doing something horrible, something I would have regretted for the rest of my life. I was too blind to see, too far gone to hear him. Things… escalated.” He paused, his brows flickering into a frown. “I was told to kill him. It was what they wanted me to do, and for a second, that was what _I_ wanted to do.”

Selina’s gaze flicked upwards, towards his face. Their eyes met. “And did you?”

Slowly, hesitantly, Bruce nodded.

She held his gaze. “And now you’re saying it was your fault?”

Bruce scoffed, looking away. “It is. I took the blade and cut through him.” _If this is what you need to do, Master Bruce, then crack on. You do it._ “I didn’t have to do anything, it’s my fault, and now he’s…” Something caught in his throat, forcing him to stop.

“But you said they did something to you, didn’t you?” Selina asked. “That you weren’t yourself.”

“It’s not an excuse.” Bruce grit his teeth. “I was too weak to snap out of it.”

Selina sighed. She moved to sit on the chair next to him, her hand leaving his knee. “Don’t do this to yourself. Just don’t, alright? That guilt, it’s gonna eat you up inside and turn you into something you don’t wanna be. You already feel guilty enough about stuff that ain’t your fault as it is.”

Bruce eyed her. She looked very human, sitting there next to him, like she was always supposed to have been there. “I know,” he said, quietly. “But it’s difficult.”

“I know.” Selina frowned. She offered her left hand to him, her palm turned up. “Don’t say anything.”

Bruce took her hand, entwining their fingers. “Okay.”

“That was something,” Selina pointed out. She turned to look at the floor. “Just… shut up, okay. Alfred’s gonna be fine. He always is. Trust me.”

What Bruce wanted to say was _what if he won’t be_. He wanted to say _you can’t know that_. He wanted to say _okay, I trust you_.

But he said nothing. They continued to sit in silence in the empty hallway, hands clasped tightly together, and for the first time, Bruce felt that it might be alright, eventually.


End file.
